


From Ferns that Drop Their Tears

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [16]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom has its price.  Though sometimes...sometimes that price is worth the cost for what can be found in return, even if it comes at the loss of all that one has ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Ferns that Drop Their Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Set before Mairon's fall, though it's getting hazy in there. This is a direct companion to _Pools Among the Rushes_ , though you do not have to read them together.
> 
> I’d like to take a moment to say that these stories are really not written or posted in any specific order, especially since I write ideas and requests as they come. So I apologize if it seems like this beast is jumping around; that was not a purposeful thing. At some point I might go through and make an order for them, but for now...it is what it is, I guess!
> 
> I am still taking any requests you would like to throw my way! 
> 
> And also, thank you to samwisespotatoes for reading over this for me while it was in progress. I appreciate that very much.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon dreamed, ghostly images flitting to and fro through his mind, behind his eyes and across his senses in vivid colors. Flashes of reds, vibrant tosses of blues and greens, torn through with fierce yellows. A mountain - he could see it so clearly for only a heartbeat - rose into the sky amidst streaking clouds hiding such beautiful stars. 

He wished to to touch those stars, to take them inside himself and keep them safe from the torrent around them, closing in so swiftly.

Snow, viciously cold and chilling away into the fire of his spirit, pierced through his bones, falling like the stars in the sky he could no longer see, and suddenly the clouds pulled into great strips of pale grey before him - and then into wispy indigo spirals. Laughter echoed around him in emptiness, clear and very faint, and he could distantly feel his physical body tear itself away from the sound - _afraid_ , pulsed his heart - and yet his soul was drawn forward, searching for something unknown, watching with aching wonder as the far shadow of the mountain already gone faded away into millions of sparkling new stars and flurries of fresh snow.

These images, these colors and sounds and senses - these were not his, and yet somehow - 

His eyes fluttered, just as the figure of someone approached from very far away through a vast encroaching darkness, still spotted with _more_ snow, and _more_ stars like a piercing blue gaze. A presence so familiar, so full of yearning...

It vanished.

Mairon had no memory of lapsing into sleep. His body had no real need for it, and he blinked slowly as the draped canopy of his bed came into view overhead, trying to recall how he had ended up where he was. Dreams were more uncommon than sleep among the Maiar, as far as he was aware, and he was rather disoriented as he continued to lie there for several more moments, letting himself return to his bearings as the images continued to fade from his mind.

His heart was beating painfully against his neck, and he raised his hand to press into his sternum, letting out an exhale and feeling his ribs as they moved with the breath through the soft fabric of his tunic. _Fire_. He needed to light a fire, he needed to surround himself with flames as best he could in that small space. That would help, surely. Chase away the lingering cold of that dreamed snow even as it clung to his skin.

He flung his feet over the side of the bed, startled when a book tumbled to the floor. He reached for it out of habit, running his fingers over the cover and remembering, quite suddenly, lying down to read with no concept of time in regard to when that could have been.

The story he had been so engaged in was one of adventure, penned by a Maia with a marvelous imagination, and he was enjoying it greatly. Perhaps…

He set the book on the table beside his bed and stood, swaying slightly with dizziness until he had to reach for the closest poster to balance against. Perhaps the plot of story had guided his mind into an adventure of its own. Nothing else so dramatic. Certainly not.

But those eyes, the fleeting figure and that image of his _face_ , grinning and full of such vivacious freedom…

Mairon pushed away from the bed’s post and made for the fireplace, grabbing the flint from the mantle and kneeling heavily before the hearth. He struck the flint into the waiting kindling, feeling his soul alight as easily as the flame that sparked so happily before him. He leaned back onto his heels, the stones tumbling from his grasp to clatter against the floor, and took in a gasping breath, greedily pulling the energy of the fire until it filled his being. 

The moments slid away, lapsed into silence and the crackling of fire.

Mairon swallowed around a terrible clutching in his throat, rocking forward to fold over his bent legs and lowering his face into his hands. He felt - he felt raw, torn asunder, as if his soul had been bared, plain to see, to some outside force he could not quite grasp as it slithered away to somewhere he was unable follow just yet.

But it had been a dream, only a simple dream. Hadn’t it? _Of course it had_ , he reassured himself obligingly, even as he knew, so deep down in his rational mind, that it had not been a dream at all. The images he had seen, the voice and laughter and colors - they were not his own. They did not come from his own imaginings, dreamed or otherwise. 

They belonged to another, to - 

He stopped himself abruptly and raised his eyes to the fire, staring into its depth as the flames continued to grow in the hearth, consuming the twigs to become a small blaze across logs set so neatly there. His thoughts were impossible. Unreasonable, full of fancy and unattainable myth.

He had asked Aulë, as delicately as he could and quite a while ago now - could Maiar feel the power of their Valar, the ones they chose to dedicate their service to? 

Aulë had smiled at him, so joyous with the carefully crafted question. _Yes_ , he had replied, his voice booming and eager as it echoed around them into the fires of the Great Forge. _Oh, yes, Mairon, they can! Have you felt an awakening of your power kindle here, with me, in the forges? A magnificent sign, of our divine kinship meant to last through the ages!_

And Mairon had lied to him, boldly and with little remorse, even as his master grasped his hands and grinned with delight. For he had felt nothing - truly, nothing so much as a glimmer - from Aulë. But there was his answer, clear as anything else before him, and the weight was not lifted from his shoulders.

If anything, the weight of this knowledge had grown so heavy he felt smothered by it, driven to the edge of madness when he could do nothing to ease the constant pain in his chest. 

This had not happened quickly, and he had not noticed its gradual increase in strength. Not until he began to feel the lasting attachments, to notice the Vala’s absence as he would a piece of himself, the reeling emotions and waves of pure energy when he was near, like threads falling from their spindle into a neat web netting through his consciousness. Not until he could pluck each thread individually, as he wished, to see where it would lead him. Wisps of thought, images, pulsing bursts of power - all freely given…

Not until the bond had planted so deep it would not be removed, even should he care to try.

He closed his eyes, immediately sensing so many branching threads, glowing with a bright silver vibration humming through them into his soul and spiraling away from within. It was so easy, so simple. The connection was weak, spread thin with great distance. And yet - he reached along one shimmering strand with a brief thought and received a small tug in return before he had even drawn his next breath. 

Weak, yes, but _alive_. Smouldering with strength and so much to be discovered if given the chance to survive.

Mairon knew, in that ephemeral moment, fleeting and full of wonder as it dawned without constraint, that if Melkor but asked - if he only sculpted the words instead of dancing around them, instead of leaving such subtle hints to be picked at and troubled over - if he _asked_...Mairon would follow anywhere he desired.

His soul fell apart with one single crack as this realization came shattering fully around him, and he reached his hand toward the fire, letting the flames lick across his skin. They caused no damage as they engulfed his offered fingers, the warmth soothing as the small blaze slowly rebuilt what he had briefly lost. He was not adrift, as his initial reaction a heartbeat before had been to believe. 

No. 

He was _free_.


End file.
